Aiden stared at the flickering grey box, his eyes narrowing as he read the description for [Static Veil].
He stood tall, adjusting his sleeves. He focused on the sensation of the skill. It didn't feel like the cold, absolute erasure of his own self. Instead, it felt like a slight itch on the back of his neck, a subtle blurring of the air around his skin.
"Great," Aiden said, his voice dripping with dry, lethal irony.
[Yeah. Yeah. Great. Just great. Instead of a nice, dreamless sleep where I pretend I'm a toaster, I'm now rerouting 15% of my remaining processing power to keep this 'Static Veil' from flickering. Do you have any idea how much effort it takes to make a human look like 'boring background noise'? It's like trying to convince a cat that a laser pointer is actually just a piece of lint.]
Aiden stepped out into the hallway. He moved with the predatory grace of a man who had killed kings, but in this body, it looked more like a very intense toddler playing hide-and-seek.
"Quiet," Aiden breathed, his eyes scanning the corridor.
The shadows clung to him, blurring his edges. To any guard passing by, he would look like a smudge in their peripheral vision—the kind of thing you blink at and then forget.
[Oh, I'll be quiet. I'm literally holding my breath, and I don't even have lungs. By the way, Boss, left turn ahead. Three guards. They're currently debating which tavern has the least watered-down ale. High-level security at its finest.]
Aiden pressed his back against a cold stone pillar as the guards marched past. Their armored boots clattered on the marble, inches from his toes.
"...and I'm telling you," one guard grumbled, "the Duke's eldest is back. The air in the dining hall felt like it was made of needles. I'd rather face an orc than Alaric Veynar when he's smiling."
Aiden waited until their footsteps faded.
"Alaric... everyone seems to have a healthy fear of him," Aiden murmured, his voice barely more than a vibration in the air.
He didn't move immediately. He stayed pinned to the pillar, his mind cataloging the guards' fear. In his experience, a "smiling" genius was usually a psychopath with better branding. Alaric's return wasn't just a family reunion; it was a complication in his plans.
[And he's got the senses of a bloodhound on espresso,] the System added, its voice flickering with a faint static. [My sensors are picking up a 'Passive Detection Field' emanating from somewhere nearby. It's thin, like a spiderweb, but if you run or trip, you'll pluck the string. Alaric—or whoever cast this detection field—will be here before you can say 'Oops.' So please... for the love of all things lazy, walk like you're made of feathers.]
Aiden pushed off the pillar. He didn't head for the main stairs. Instead, he navigated through the servants' passages—narrow, damp corridors that smelled of old tallow and desperation. Here, the shadows were thicker, fueling the [Static Veil].
Aiden moved through the cramped servant tunnels, his steps so silent they didn't even disturb the dust.
[You know,] the System whispered, [you really should be more grateful for my 'Nap Protocol.' If I hadn't put you in a coma, you'd be a glowing beacon of purple doom right now. Alaric's mana-sense is so sharp it could cut silk. The second he touched your shoulder, he was looking for a leak. I had to literally clamp down on your soul to keep your power from screaming 'I'M A FALLEN GOD MAKER' in his face.]
Aiden's jaw tightened.
"I am aware."
It was the ultimate irony. In his previous existence, he had been the source of all magic for his heroes. Now, he was a vessel brimming with it.
By using forbidden compression techniques—math that would make a High Mage's brain melt—Aiden had turned his small body into a pressurized tank of high-grade mana. In terms of pure density and quality, he had surpassed Julian's flashy fire magic in just one month after taking over the body.
But a ten-year-old with mana density that strong was a walking death sentence. Even worse if it came from a talentless, worthless child.
If the Duke—a man who valued strength but feared threats—realized his "talentless" son was actually an apex predator in fragile skin, the "mercy" of House Veynar would end with a blade to the throat.
"The Duke doesn't have the sensitivity," Aiden muttered, stepping over a puddle of murky water. By now, he had reached the attic. "He feels intent, not mana. But Alaric... Alaric is a scholar of the weave."
[Exactly. Which is why 'Static Veil' is currently running on 'Extra-Crispy' mode. I'm masking the vibration of your mana core. It's like trying to hide a jet engine behind a humming fan.]
After hearing the system's comment about the jet engine, a sudden thought struck Aiden.
"Alaric didn't just find me here earlier," he whispered, his eyes scanning the seemingly random piles of junk covered in dirt.
"He was dragged here by the sense of all the mana coming from the leak."
[Ding! Give the man a prize,] the System droned. [Yeah, Alaric's mana-sense is basically a high-end Geiger counter, and this attic is the reactor core. He didn't find you because he's a caring big brother; he found you because the air in here tastes like pure, unrefined power. He probably thinks you're the source of the leak—or at least he's wondering why the 'family failure' is sitting on a gold mine of energy.]